Dinner
by Stacymc2012
Summary: "I'm not here to make friends." That was the line that started it all. And really, whenever someone says that, all one can do is laugh because life and irony has a way of making one eat their words. One line. One arrangement that would eventually bring them together again.


**Just a quick Author's Note: I adopted this fic from the amazing and lovely B00k-Freak. The beginning was written by her. The rest of it, where I came in, was inspired by her fic _Call._ This may allude to it a bit, so if you haven't done so already, definitely check it out. **

* * *

Dinner

"I'm not here to make friends."

That was one of the first things Melinda had said to him, and Phil had believed her totally. She was amazing in combat class, and someone her size didn't exactly get into Operations Academy without putting in a lot of work. She was amazing in those classes. "I totally understand," He said, "I'm not... I could just really use your help, I'm not great in combat." Phil rubbed the back of his neck. This was wrong. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, but he was worried. "I- don't really know... if you have an hourly rate or something, I can do that."

He might have been imagining it, but May's eyes seemed to soften. She hesitated. "You can cook, right?" When Phil frowned, she shifted uncomfortably. "I heard some people talking."

Phil smiled a little. "Yeah." He said. "Uuh, what's that got to do with training?"

May bit her tongue. This was probably a bad idea. "I've got Wednesday afternoons off." She said. "We could train for an hour or so, and you make dinner."

Phil raised an eyebrow, smirking. "I thought you weren't here to make friends."

She bristled. "I'm not." She said shortly. "The cafeteria food is junk."

He chuckled. She was right. "Sounds good to me." He said. "Thank you."

Phil didn't know then that he was meeting one of the best friends he would ever have. All he knew was that this girl looked really beautiful when she smiled, and he now had an arrangement to spend Wednesdays having her kick his ass.

The thought made him smile.

* * *

Phil had heard rumors. ' _The great Cavalry retired from Operations and has moved to Tech'. 'Man, what a loss, she was amazing!' 'She won't be there long, she'll get that itch again soon'._ But he didn't know what to believe. Melinda hadn't been answering his calls or smoke signals for months now, so of course there was no way he could verify exactly where she was. Then that fateful Friday night happened. He called Tech support and that lovely woman spoke to him, managed to retrieve his report and send it for him. There had been a special kind of familiarity in the woman's voice. An inkling that she could be someone he could be friends with one day. And maybe it was that he missed Melinda that much, but he couldn't help it. When he asked for her name, and there was that long pause, he realized why that inkling was there. He realized that his gut had known all along.

"Melinda?" he had asked, and then the line had gone dead.

The whole conversation suddenly made sense. It was his best friend. The light joking, the ease with which they fell into quick banter. A connection like that didn't just _happen_ with another stranger, did it? His stomach tightened as he sat at his desk, playing with his pen, attempting to decide what to do. Phil fought the urge to get up, run out of this building, across the facility where administration was found, and locate Melinda. But… She'd hung up when he said her name. She had put up a façade when she'd clearly recognized him. That meant something.

Swallowing hard, Phil turned off the light on his desk, grabbed his jacket, and left the office for the night. There was a nagging feeling behind his eyes. He wouldn't cry. He understood what Melinda was going through. He just wanted to be there for her, but she wouldn't let him in. What was he to do?

That night, and for all the other nights that followed those three weeks, Phil did research. He did research on Post Traumatic Stress, avoidance, flashbacks, irritability, … He researched common reactions to revisiting certain memories or people from _before_ the incident, and he researched certain dos and don'ts. By the end of all his research, as Phil sat on the hardwood floors of his apartment, surrounded by all kinds of psychology books he'd checked out of the library (in which the grandmotherly librarian, who helped him at check out, gave him a sympathetic look), Phil came to one conclusion. He would have to test the waters to see what Melinda would be willing to accept. Sure, he had the knowledge now. He knew not to take the her pushing him away personally. She was in pain. She was in so much pain, and she was scared. But, he knew his best friend. He was the only one who could figure out what she was willing to tolerate.

* * *

Melinda May was always partial to pasta. On a Wednesday afternoon, if Phil knew she'd had a hard week since their last training session, there was a special dish he would prepare for his best friend after she'd kicked his ass ten ways to Sunday.

" _It's Pasta à la Coulson!"_ Phil had told her in a horrible French accent, one Wednesday after a mission in which Melinda hadn't been able to successfully complete.

Melinda had managed a smirk and rolled her eyes at him, "You're an even bigger dork than I originally thought."

"Ah! _Mademoiselle,_ you hurt me! Here!" Phil shouted, in the horrible accent still, as he dramatically pointed to his chest and proceeded to make dying whale noises.

This brought a giggle out of Melinda and Phil grinned back, proceeding to quote her, "Then again, " _I'm not here to make friends"_."

In response, he got a glare and a punch to his shoulder. "Ow!"

"You started it. Now, what's this pasta?" she nodded to the food he'd brought already made.

"Usually I'd cook in front of you, but I don't want to give away my secret ingredients. This pasta is very special," Phil replied cryptically as he opened the glass Tupperware.

Melinda was hit in the face with the intense smell of what seemed like mac and cheese, but this was white, and cooked chicken, clearly seasoned with different herbs and garlic… Her mouth watered at the scent, and looking at it, Melinda knew she'd officially found her comfort food for the rest of her life. She wouldn't tell Phil that though. Otherwise, she'd never live it down. "So, you made mac and cheese?" she deadpanned, trying to hide her excitement in trying it.

"Does this look like it could possibly come from a blue, Kraft box!" He paused and narrowed his eyes at her, "You'll see. You'll love it. And you'll never touch that damned blue box again." He plated her some food.

And he was right.

* * *

Phil had committed to memory the way she had eaten the entire thing that night. And since then, whenever he knew there was a bad day, that was what he would make for her. So, when he worked up the courage, Phil armed himself with _Pasta à la Coulson_ and the knowledge that, even though his friend had changed, she was still there. Phil knew she wouldn't be the same again, and he wasn't expecting that from her. How could he? She had experienced things no human should ever have to. She had seen horrors in this world that should be kept locked away. He wouldn't expect from her something he knew she couldn't give. He did, however, want her to know that he hadn't changed. That he still knew her. That he still loved her. That she was still his best friend.

Armed, Phil found her office. It was late, everyone was gone, and there was that lone light on, at the end of the office, with a figure quickly stapling papers. He knew who it was just from how she sat.

.

..

Melinda knew she wasn't alone the instant the elevator dinged across the hall, behind the closed doors of this office area. As the footsteps neared, she knew exactly who it was, and she let her guard down _slightly_. It was never down completely anymore. She knew she shouldn't have answered the phone that night. Phil knew where she was and now it would only be a matter of time before he visited, that much she knew. And it wasn't as if she harbored any weird resentment toward him. It wasn't like that. He was her best friend. She missed him _so much_. And she felt _so alone_ lately, even more so since she and Andrew decided… The thing was, she didn't know if she could still be the person Phil knew. Actually, no. She _knew_ she wasn't the person Phil knew anymore. She was long gone. That youthful girl who made jokes and pulled pranks, took risks… The person who – the person who she was _before_. And Melinda would be damned if she had to also witness the broken look in Phil's eyes the day he realized that.

The question that lingered was though: _who are you trying to protect, Melinda?_

Well, there was no avoiding it now. Phil had gotten to her desk. He put down a large insulated bag on her papers, and Melinda didn't even bother to look up. She couldn't take the pity. Before she could say anything though, he spoke, "It's Wednesday night. My hand-to-hand combat has gotten rusty since I stopped practicing with my best friend. We used to have an agreement. Wednesdays she would teach me and I would make her dinner. So, I figured, since you worked your magic with my computer the other night, maybe you could help me with this, and I'll feed you… Something tells me you can't cook, and I hear the cafeteria food here sucks."

Melinda looked up at him, dark brown eyes absorbing the man in front of her as she processed what he'd said. Was he… Did he understand that the old her was gone? It sounded like he did.

Before she could weigh her options, her lips spoke, "One rule. You're not allowed to ask if I'm okay."

Phil wanted to argue at that, but he fought the urge and nodded, "Okay." She would set the terms on this.

"And there might be times where -"

Phil had caught her off, " – where you might not really like me? That's okay too… I don't expect you to magically go back to how we were. I just want you to know you're not alone."

Melinda was quiet after that, and Phil opened the bag, "It's late. How about we just have dinner? Leave the training for next week?" he offered.

Melinda nodded silently and carefully moved her papers over. Smells of what was in the bag filled her cubicle as Phil made way for the containers. There was a slight tug on the side of her lips almost as if a smile wanted to come through, but it didn't. "Fancy macaroni and cheese?"

Gasping dramatically, Phil replied, in that forsaken accent, " _Non, non, non! Mademoiselle! Eeet eees PASTA À LA COULSON!_ "

Biting down at the inside of her bottom lip, Melinda felt tears welling up in her eyes slightly as she swallowed down the emotions and urge to laugh. She didn't deserve to laugh. She didn't deserve someone as amazing as Phil in her life. She didn't deserve –

" _Para tu_ ," Phil said as he placed a plate before her.

"I don't know how you are in communications and you manage to butcher every language. Including English."

"It's a skill," Phil grinned at her and wiggled his brows as he pulled over a chair and sat down across from her to eat too.

There was a silence. A comfortable silence. And for the first time in a while Melinda felt a strange sense of warmth and peace wash over her.

* * *

Six months had passed before Phil saw her smile for the first time in _too long_. They were still limited to their Wednesday dinners and training sessions, and Phil was so okay with that. It was all Melinda could handle, and he was willing to take it. Anything so she would know she was not alone. She spoke more now. Well, it mostly depended on what kind of day she was having and her mood. But again, Phil would take what he was given.

Phil came in with his left arm cradled close to his chest in a black sling and looking a little worse for wear. Melinda looked up when she saw him and replied, "That was one hell of a mission. But you made it out alive. I guess training is helping?"

"I definitely wouldn't have gotten out in one piece if it hadn't been for you," Phil smiled and pulled over a chair, taking a seat gingerly.

Melinda raised her left shoulder slightly in a shrug, "It's not like I was there. But I'm glad I could help. As soon as your arm heals, we'll work on ways so that this kind of thing never happens to you again… How're your ribs?"

Phil shrugged at that and winced, "Floating around my abdomen and getting ready to puncture a lung, I'm sure."

Melinda made a face at that and then raised a brown bag from the other side of her desk, placing it on top. "I figured you'd be hungry."

"You brought dinner today?" he raised a brow and smiled.

Melinda rolled her eyes, "Not like we could be doing any actual training."

Nodding, the other agent agreed and reached out to pour out some food for himself. But this was hard to do with one hand. Silently, the Asian woman smacked his hand away and poured it out for him. He let her, and watched, muttering, "Remember the last time you provided food?"

Melinda glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as she pulled open a different container and gave him some of that, "I don't recall," she lied.

Phil knew she was lying, but continued anyway, "You had decided to cook. You were under strict bedrest – which I did not know until that night. And I got to your place that Wednesday night, you had just returned from that mission where you got injured… God, where was it?"

"Czech," came the reply before Melinda could stop it.

"Right! You cooked dinner after having been _stabbed_ , because it was your peace offering for not being able to train."

"And it was absolutely horrible. Never again have I tried a recipe online," Melinda scoffed.

Phil rolled his eyes and picked up his fork, "Oh c'mon. It wasn't that bad!"

Melinda glared at him. "You have never drank that many glasses of water during a dinner before."

"Okay, so.. maybe it was kind of bad. But it's the _thought_ that counts," Phil grinned.

Melinda managed a small smile at that and replied, "And that's all that should count."

Phil's grin could have split his face at seeing her smile. He said nothing about that, and continued the banter, "Well at least this time you thought better of it."

"Yes, Chinese take-out is a safer option. You've already nearly gotten killed once this week."

"One time too many," Phil shuddered.

Melinda gave a half-hearted chuckle. Phil watched her for a moment, and she became self-conscious almost instantly. "What?" her tone was demanding.

Catching himself, Phil cleared his throat and said quietly, "Thank you." At the questioning look on her face, he elaborated, "For agreeing to this arrangement… I missed having you around."

At the short nod that Melinda gave as a response, she still didn't look back up. There was a silence that engulfed them at that. Surprisingly, Melinda was the one to break the silence minutes later. "She's not coming back, Phil… Who I was before… I… I'm not her anymore."

Phil watched her measured facial expressions from where he sat, noting that what she was saying now was taking a lot out of her. He couldn't help himself when his right hand reached out and he squeezed Melinda's cold hands from where they were on her lap, "I don't expect that, Mel. I don't care that you can't be who you were before. We all change at one time or another. Just… Give me the chance to meet the new you?"

Melinda stared down at their hands. It was the first real human contact since she and Andrew had split up. Swallowing hard, Melinda realized that she needed someone so much more than she thought. Now it was her turn. She looked up at Phil and whispered, "Thank you."


End file.
